


Part of Me

by wildekinder



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dear Evan Hansen References, This is an AU, also mention of death threats, but all in good fun, but like not a fun one, i'm rlly sad inside, ig major character death, rated t for mention of suicide and drug abuse, so it’s ouchie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 01:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildekinder/pseuds/wildekinder
Summary: This is very ouchie.Abby creates a foundation, The JMG Foundation, for her son that she lost due to a drug overdose/suicide.Based off “In The Bedroom Down The Hall” from Dear Evan Hansen.





	Part of Me

**Author's Note:**

> get the tissues kiddos

**Abigail Griffin** created a page: **The JMG Foundation.**  
A foundation dedicated to giving children, teens, and young adults a safe space to talk to someone who will not judge them based on their feelings, issues, or decisions. The JMG Foundation (Named for my son - Johnathan Murphy Griffin) is trying to prevent suicide in our youth.

**The JMG Foundation**  
_July 17, 2014 at 8:30 AM_

The first photo is a photo of my family. All four of us. My husband, Jake, and I are in the back. In front of us is our daughter, Clarke (9 years old at the time), and our son, John (8 years old at the time). This is the last picture of the four of us before everything changed.

We adopted Johnathan Murphy Griffin when he was seven years old, and it was clear he was the missing piece our family needed.

John was a kid with a lot of demons. Demons of his past that he just couldn't seem to let go. For the first few years, everything was okay. He had nightmares almost every night, so I bought him a little Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle nightlight so he wouldn't feel like he was in the dark. He said it protected him. He felt safer after that, and he didn't have as many nightmares.

When he was nine I surprised him with a comic book collection. He was so excited, he read every single one of them at least ten times, I'm sure. The next Halloween, he begged to go as Wolverine. And all I could do as his mama was oblige. He loved the costume so much. The second photo shows just how much he loved that costume (he slept in it for nearly a month straight).

I would have done anything to make that boy smile, absolutely anything. Anything for my sweet boy who lived in the bedroom just down the hall.

When he was eleven it all seemed... different. He wasn't the same happy boy I had adopted four years prior. He was angry -- all the time. Looking back on it now, he probably didn't know what to do or how to handle his fear and anxiety and depression.

My husband was a wonderful father and man, but he didn't understand why our son was destroying himself. He grew up in a household where they taught him, "If you let your emotions control you, you are truly weak." He spoke to John like he was wrong for feeling what he was feeling, which pushed our boy further down the dark hole he was already in.

Every night became a battle. Getting him to come out of his room for dinner was quite literally the hardest thing I had to do on a daily basis. But, I always managed. And every night, without fail, we would argue until he inevitably slammed his bedroom door in my face.

Clarke, my daughter and his sister, began to fear John. John would chase her around the house screaming at her and threatening to kill her. Breakfasts became an exchange of "fuck you's" to each other and passive aggressive statements otherwise. Jake wasn't much help. He left it all for me to handle.

Jake died when John was fifteen, and it seemed like he didn't care. But John seemed to get worse after that, and I knew he missed his father. He even almost said it to me once, but ended up just turning around and retreating back to his room.

That's when we started taking him to counseling. I tried everything. I tried what felt like hours a day of counseling, countless therapists, and all those silly little "cures" a mother tries. I just wanted my son back. I though maybe, just maybe, something I did would take away that anger in his eyes.

Slowly, doing anything to make him happy turned into doing anything to make him not angry. And it was hard. I had a daughter who wouldn't talk to me because I defended my son who threatened her life multiple times. I didn't even know the proper protocol for things like this.

Was I to send him away to a treatment facility? Was I to try having Clarke move to her Uncle Marcus's house for a few months to work with John alone? Was I to just give up and let them hash it out on their own?

The third picture is one I took of the kids together after Clarke's final debate in high school. I think it's pretty easy to tell neither of them were pleased about taking the picture. Their smiles are forced, their bodies are in uncomfortable positions. "Act like you like each other," I said in an attempt to make them laugh. But the fourth picture shows how well that went over.

The fifth picture is the last picture I have of my son. His first day of his junior year of high school. It was the second day of school, he was too high on the first day to go. I let it go, thinking maybe that would make him want to go the next day. It didn't. He refused to take a picture with his sister because, "It's stupid, mom. She's stupid," and, "It's the second day of school anyway, it makes no sense to take another picture of her." I decided not to argue, I wanted him to have a good day. I wanted him to come home and maybe smile a little bit.

That evening, my entire world crumbled around me.

Do you know what it's like to lose your child?

I felt the pain of losing my husband, times a thousand. Every single breath I took after getting that call felt like I was breathing in knives and I knew in those moments that a mother should never live longer than her child.

The last picture is the first picture we ever took as a family of four. John hates the sweater we put him in. "It doesn't fit, mom," he would tell me, "And it's itchy."

To this day, I have that sweater in a box in storage, I just couldn't get rid of it.

The day my son died was the most painful day of my life. He had been missing for hours after school. Clarke came home without her brother, he had told her he wanted to walk home. We couldn't find him anywhere. Nearly nine hours later, my baby was found passed out in the park -- an overdose.

You see, John didn't know how to handle his emotions. He smoked them all away. And every day, he let his anger take over. I think it was better than being sad for him.

Johnathan Murphy Griffin died on May 2, 2014 at 8:34PM.

And that's why we created The JMG Foundation, for young people like my son. To show them that they are not alone.

My son will always be a part of me, but I had to put away the hurt and heartache to prevent other parents from feeling the way this situation has made me feel.

Thank you for joining us on this journey. I'm sure John would have thrived if he had something like this to lean back on.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i’m sorry


End file.
